I mentioned, I guess a few days ago now, that I think my relationship with my former fiance is at an end. I don't think the reason really matters, as it was probably unrealistic to think we could segue into friendship; I do think we had to try. The reasons behind this last break are far too personal to get into.
As you know, GK4 and I were together from the ages of 18-26. He saw me through mental illness, great sadnesses and most of my growing up. He was the one who had to figure out how to get my grandmother's ashes out of the plastic bag the mortuary sent. He carved our turkeys at Thanksgiving. We called each other ten times a day to report on something absurd we'd seen - a goofy outfit, a grandiose movie poster, an amusing bum. Even after we broke up, I got texts containing an image of a papier mache Sandra Day O'Connor or a jar of French jam that I'd especially liked when we lived in Paris. We had many plans for the future, and were in total accord as to how we planned to raise our children (Frances "Scotty" and Guyon "Hart" V)- to be wild eccentrics who had Swallows and Amazons-style adventures. When we retired, we planned to open a bed and breakfast in which I cooked and he cleaned and did repairs; we had all the menus written out.
You would have liked our wedding. It was to be at my parents' house, very small, with just champagne, tea sandwiches and cake. We found a lady in Katonah to make the sandwiches; the cake was on order from Sugar Sweet Sunshine, a white three-layer with Lady Baltimore filling. My dress, as I've mentioned, is stunning. The night before, we were having a party for a hundred at Freeman's (this was a few years ago, before that was lame.)
I can't convey here his intelligence, his irascibility, his complexity, or the love I feel for him - which can only be likened to that which I feel for my immediate family: deep and unconditional and ultimately indestructible. I am deeply greatful to have known him. Thanks, GK.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment